


Pink

by Lady In A Tux (CollateralDamage666)



Series: Holidays at 221B [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollateralDamage666/pseuds/Lady%20In%20A%20Tux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither John nor Sherlock seem to enjoy Valentine's Day.  Sherlock just can't understand John's reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing one for Sherlock's birthday as well, which was a month ago, but I keep getting caught up in stuff. I have the same birthdate, January 6th, and college started back up the day after, so I've been busy.

“It’s so pink and hideous!”  Sherlock suddenly snarled from where he was curled up in his armchair, watching crap telly.  John glanced at him over the top of the newspaper he was trying to read, quirking his eyebrow at his flatmate.  When Sherlock didn’t offer anything to explain his sudden outburst, John lifted the newspaper back up, attention back on the article in front of him.  Until the next cry of exasperation.

“What’s the point of it?  Spend your money, maybe get some sex, and then it’s gone and you go back to arguing and yelling.  A day doesn’t make a difference.  It’s absurd!”

“And what, pray tell, are you yelling about today?”  John sighed, folding the newspaper up and placing it on his knee.  His cup of tea was almost finished and he reached out to sip at it some more.  Sherlock’s, on the other hand, was barely touched and lukewarm now.

“This absurd day they call a holiday.  Valentine’s day,” he scoffed the words, grimacing as though they left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“It’s definitely a holiday for the businesses, but it’s not that bad when you have someone to celebrate it with.”

“Well that’s just great for you, Bachelor Watson.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, so I hardly see how that’s good for me.  I haven’t had a girlfriend for more than a few weeks since you… you know.”

Sherlock looked over at him, quite surprised, “Why not?”

“Can we not talk about this now?”

“Is there a better time to talk about this?”

“Look, I just didn’t feel like it after the fall, all right?  Happy now that your curiosity has been fed?”  John angrily shot back the rest of his tea and slammed down his newspaper before storming into the kitchen to clean out his teacup.  Sherlock watched him run the cup under the tap furiously as though it had done the damage.  He set it back down as hard as he could without chipping the china before going and grabbing his coat from where it hung on the rack.

“Where are you going?”  Sherlock got up, walking toward John.

“Deduce it.  You still do that, don’t you?” John snapped back and was gone.

* * *

 

The graveyard.  Sherlock almost kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier.  But the hunched figure in front of the tombstone – his tombstone – was unmistakable.  He approached slowly from behind, but John already knew he was there, just didn’t move to acknowledge him.  There was a flower in front of his body and Sherlock, still maintaining his distance, had to crane his neck to see what it was.  What he hadn’t been expecting was a red rose.  His brain shuddered to a stop before it got itself back together and turned, melding all the facts together.  Red.  Red rose.  Red roses were usually reserved for- He shuffled closer, glad when John didn’t move, but he still hadn’t done anything to accept him there.

Sinking to his knees behind John, not caring if his knees were currently marinating in mud, he pressed against John’s back.  The doctor melted back into him, head leaning into his shoulder.  His cheeks were wet and Sherlock reached up to brush away the stubborn tears.  John’s eyes closed and his chest shuddered as he tried to squeeze a breath into his tightening lungs.

“Three years,” he breathed out, “Three goddamn years.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, John.  I missed you everyday.  I’m sorry.”

They were silent except for John’s shuddered breaths as he tried to regain his composure.  Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders and pulled him closer.  Finally, John inhaled deeply and leaned away.  Sherlock let him.  They both climbed to their feet and stared down at the gravestone.  Sherlock’s eyes flickered down to the rose again, mind flicking over the possibilities of what it could mean.  John had never left a rose on his grave before.

“Why is this gravestone still here?”  John tried to joke, but his laughter came out shaky.

“To remove it, they’d have to dig out the coffin as well.  I suppose they’re just too lazy, though I’m surprised Mycroft hasn’t made it a priority.  He usually hates loose ends.”

“Maybe it’s because he knows I come here often.”

Sherlock almost scoffed at him, but decided to stay quiet.  There wasn’t anything saying otherwise to his theory.  Instead he reached forward hesitantly, fingers wrapping around John’s wrist.  When John didn’t immediately pull away, Sherlock gripped tighter.

“I suppose I win the award for worst Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t know.  Being shot at in a foreign country still seems to be ahead, but this is a close second.”

“I’m sorry.”

John chewed on his bottom lip, mulling his thoughts over, “You can make it up to me.”  That perked Sherlock up immediately and he stared at John like an expectant puppy.  “Buy me lunch?”

“I can do that,” Sherlock tightened his grip around John’s wrist and tugged, glad when John followed willingly.  But it dissolved when he twisted his wrist out of Sherlock’s grasp.  He tried not to frown as the warmth left him, but then John’s hand was back, knuckles brushing against Sherlock’s.  He spread his fingers, thinking John wanted to hold hands, but was surprised when he only slid his knuckles between Sherlock’s.  He held onto John’s knuckles with his own and like that they walked out of the cemetery as though this was the most natural thing in the world, this half hand holding.

“So where are you taking me?”

Sherlock looked down at John, “To Angelo’s.”

“But you eat there for free, you arse!”  John tried to sound annoyed, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face and the laughter in his voice.

“I believe that’s the point, John.”

John threw back his head and laughed.


End file.
